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like Larson knew what the other man was going to do, how he was going to react. Larson moved to the side, blocked the punch with a move of his own, and stepped out of the way again. Mars turned around quickly and started swinging. Larson successfully blocked each one, and slammed his own fist into the other fighter’s face, his side, kidneys, anywhere and everywhere he could land a blow. It was like watching a choreographed ballet performance, one where the moves were articulate, precise perfection, but brutal and damaging. Blood started to pour out of Mars’s nose and mouth, drip down his chest, and land on the rust color stained mat.
    Back and forth they danced a dangerous tango, and Tasha could see Mars start to waver from the exhaustion and pain he clearly felt. This was like nothing she’d ever witnessed before at the training facility, like nothing she thought she’d ever come to see. Her heart was in her throat, beating an uneven tempo.
    This fighting wasn’t like the UFC she’d seen a few times on TV, obviously. This was so much more raw, unhinged, dangerous, and violent. Mars’s fists connected with the air more times than not, but he got in one hit to Larson’s face. Blood erupted from Larson’s mouth, spraying along the mat and on the people closest to the cage—meaning she got some on her. She looked down, saw her blouse had a few splatters of blood on it, and she was stunned as she lifted her gaze to the cage again.
    Blood poured from Larson’s mouth, and she saw his lip was split pretty badly. He also had a black eye forming. But Mars looked like someone had beaten the shit out of him, and he was hanging on by a thread. Everything seemed to slow at what she knew were the final seconds of the fight, the final blow about to be delivered. Larson took a step back, wiped the blood from his mouth and chin, and turned his head to spit out a mouthful of blood and saliva.
    He reared back his heavily muscled arm and brought his fist to the side of Mars’s face. The young fighter spun around, looked stunned for a second as he stared off into the crowd, then fell forward, slamming face-first onto the mat. Blood splattered out of his mouth and coated the mat like a grisly murder scene. But it was the tooth that came out right along with that blood and spit that had her gasping and covering her mouth.
    Oh my God .
    She looked over at Larson, saw he still had no expression on his face, but that blood covered his chest and knuckles, even still came out of his mouth. She turned her attention back to Mars and saw several people checking his pulse and then rolling him over. Then they carried him off the ground, and the sound of him groaning told her she hadn’t just witnessed a murder.
    Tasha let out a breath, not realizing she’d been holding it in. When her gaze went back to Larson she was startled by his expression now. Although he wasn’t looking at anyone or anything in particular, she could see the cold detachment on his face. A minute passed, and then he took the back of his hand and ran it over his check, smearing the blood that had splattered there. He moved his hand down his chest, trying to wipe off the blood, but only smearing it more.
    A man called Larson off the stage, and when the man was out of the ring, the other guy handed Larson an envelope. She wasn’t a fool. She knew that was his winnings for beating the shit out of Mars. That was the point of these fights, to win money and nearly kill people.
    She licked her lips, suddenly feeling lightheaded. Despite all the violence she’d just witnessed, a wave of arousal slammed into her so hard she sucked in a lungful of air. She had to get out of here. This wasn’t right. Her arousal was too intense, too misplaced for what she’d just witnessed.
    Turning on her heel, she started shoving people out of her way, trying to get out of here because she couldn’t breathe all of a sudden. This was insane. She was insane. Tasha gasped for air, suddenly